


Traditions

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not your traditional Christmas story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in December 1996 under my real name.

Duncan MacLeod slipped on his greatcoat and glanced over to the Immortal lounging on his couch -- as if he belonged there -- and sighed. "Methos, don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked, his impatience coming through loud and clear. 

Methos didn't move; he didn't look capable of moving. His legs were drawn up, an open book resting against his thighs as he carefully balanced a piece of fruitcake in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. He took a small sip of his beer, then answered, "Nope," without looking up. 

Duncan sighed deeply. Methos had been camped out in his loft for a good month, and it looked like he had no intentions of leaving. When he had offered to let the Ancient Immortal stay with him, MacLeod didn't realize his stay would stretch into the holiday season. "But what about..." MacLeod began, then fell silent. He had no idea what religious holiday Methos celebrated, if any at all. Duncan himself was looking forward to one of the many small ceremonies around Seacouver, meeting Richie later that day in the park. 

"I have no religious preference, MacLeod," Methos answered him anyway, startling the younger Immortal. 

_How does_ he _do that?_ Duncan wondered, then shoved the thought aside. "Okay, but don't you have friends you have to visit, maybe some old friends?" He emphasized 'old friends', some small part of him hoping Methos would give him a hint of just who he had known, either mortal or Immortal. No one knew much about Methos, and it seemed he preferred it that way ... but Duncan was curious. 

"Not really," Methos murmured, turning another page carefully with his pinkie. He bit off a piece of the fruitcake and quickly licked the crumbs from his hand. "Most of my friends were Watchers, especially Don and Christine. And they're both dead," he recounted without a hint of emotion. "The only other friends I care to see are Joe -- whom I'll be seeing tomorrow, Christmas day, is it? -- and you." At that, Methos looked up, fixing Duncan with his ancient eyes. "And all my _old friends_ have vanished over the years." 

Duncan felt a wave of guilt. He had known Methos for less than a year, yet he felt a kinship with him. And now he was bringing up painful memories for him. "I'm sorry, Methos. I didn't mean to ..." 

Methos shook his head, interrupting, "Do not apologize, MacLeod. You have nothing to apologize for. I will never begrudge someone for telling the truth ... unless it puts me in harm's way." He couldn't resist the smile he could feel breaking over his face, and a satisfied light shone from his eyes as MacLeod also smiled. "Now then," he slid further down onto the couch, settling himself comfortably, "What were you going to do later this afternoon?" 

"I'm going to meet Richie at the park, where the Chamber of Commerce will be having their annual cultural event." Seeing Methos' eyebrow raise in question, he elaborated, "A mixing of Christmas, Kwanzaa, Chanukah and any other holiday that wishes to be recognized. I might stop by my storage bay and see if I have anything to contribute." 

"A Celtic Christmas?" Methos remarked. "I didn't know you had it in you, MacLeod." 

"My mother and father celebrated every year, and I've honored them every year by celebrating in my own small way," Duncan answered testily. "At least I'm doing _something_ ," he snapped before he could think. 

Methos fixed his eyes on MacLeod again, staring at him a full minute before replying. "You do the people who raised you honor. That's a noble thing to do every year for as long as you have. I would never belittle anyone for keeping tradition," he added quietly, keeping his eyes locked on MacLeod's. "Isn't it about time you got going?" 

Barely able to break Methos' intense gaze, MacLeod glanced to his watched and cursed. "I've got half an hour." He looked again to the world's oldest living Immortal. "You sure you don't want to come with us?" 

"Sorry, MacLeod. Crowds aren't my thing." His cynical facade dropped for an instant, and Methos' eyes softened with his smile. "But thanks for the offer." 

Duncan felt himself drowning in those unfathomable eyes. Taking a deep breath, the world returned, along with all the things he still had to do. "All right. I'm going to run to the storage bay. If Richie happens to stop by or call ..." 

"I will tell him you are on your way," Methos promised, watching with amusement as MacLeod rushed around the loft, gathering this and that, before breezing into the elevator and disappearing in a whoosh of broadcoat. 

Methos enjoyed the peace and quiet for a few minutes, then roused himself. Shoving the last of the fruitcake in his mouth, he licked his fingers and drained his beer. After brushing himself off, he rose and went to his duffel bag, tossing things onto the floor as he searched. When he thought he had everything, he started to strip, toeing off his shoes, tugging his pants and shirt off, then pulling on his new outfit. The boots didn't want to go on, so he sat on the floor to tug at them. 

"Uurf," he grunted, "It's not like I've grown any since last year," he cursed the shiny black boots. After a few minutes of struggling, he took off his thick socks, slipped on a thinner pair, and slid the boots on with ease. "Give me a hard time will you?" he snarled, banging his heel on the floor. Sighing, he clamored to his feet, holding his tongue between his teeth. He was forgetting something. Looking around, he spotted what he was missing. Donning the bright red hat, he went to check himself in the mirror. "Not bad," he murmured to himself, turning to see if the coat had gotten tucked into the pants. He adjusted the belt, wiggled his nose at the tickling whiskers, then gathered up his other clothes and stuffed them in the duffel bag. Hoisting it on his shoulder, he walked out of the loft, down to his rented minivan. The trunk and back seats were already full, so he shoved his duffel bag partially under the passenger's seat, then started the minivan. 

~~~~~~ 

Duncan walked through the crowd at the park, keeping his senses on alert for Richie. He paused to watch children playing in the snow, laughing as they started a full scale snowball fight. 

"Hey!" he laughed, ducking as a stray ball headed his way. A Buzz cut through the air, then a muffled shout, followed by laughter, caused him to turn around. 

Richie Ryan was standing behind him, scraping what was left of the snowball off his face. A bemused grin lit his face as he called out, "Good shot!" to the kids. They had stopped when Richie was hit, but now they started again full-force, squealing just as loudly as before. 

"Merry Christmas, Richie!" Duncan greeted his ex-student with a great hug. He laughed as he brushed snow from the front of his coat. "You should learn to duck." 

"I didn't have much of a warning," Richie explained with a grin. He rubbed his chest and winced. "Geez Mac, did you have to crush me like that? It's not like I haven't seen you in years," he teased Duncan, his blue eyes twinkling. 

"I know," MacLeod drawled, taking a swipe at the younger Immortal's head. "But this season has always affected me. No matter where I was, the end of the year was always special. Full of good memories and hopes for the upcoming year. And don't tell me you haven't been affected too," Duncan playfully scolded the young Immortal, pointing to Richie's head. 

Richie laughed, settling the Santa hat more firmly on his head. A wild holly sprig hung precariously from the brim, just above his left eye. "A work of art, isn't it? Maria stopped by on the way to her house, and gave it to me." He blushed faintly as he added, "She claimed this was mistletoe." 

Duncan smirked. "That's _not_ mistletoe." 

Richie glanced around, then leaned in close to MacLeod. "If you don't say anything, I won't." 

"My lips are sealed," Duncan promised with a smile. 

"Hey, isn't Joe coming?" Richie asked with a concerned frown. 

Duncan shook his head. "No. His brother and his wife called earlier, saying they were stopping by tonight on their way back home. Joe said he'd rather see them than this." 

"Imagine that," Richie lamented, "Being dumped on Christmas." Seeing Duncan's eyes darken, he held up his hands in surrender. "Kidding! I'm just kidding, Mac. I'm glad Joe's going to see some of his family tonight." 

"It is a night for families," MacLeod muttered as he glanced around the gathering crowd. The crush of people around them began to make conversation difficult, so they turned their attentions to the Mayor on the platform, who was about to start the festivities. 

"Welcome once again," her soft voice boomed throughout the crowd, eliciting cheers. "We are here to celebrate not just one holiday, not just one tradition, but to celebrate each other. We are all here in the spirit of whatever season moves us, to bring joyous feelings and thoughts to those around us." She paused while the crowd again expressed their appreciation. 

She sobered as she continued. "But for all our celebration and good wishes, there are still those who will know no joy, who will not share in our festive meals, or exchange presents. They are the ones who need us most. They are the ones who need this spirit the most." She cleared her throat, her voice growing louder. "While it is not much, I would like to point out the helpers here today," she pointed to the perimeter of the crowd, where sudden jangly bells could be heard. "If you would like to make a donation, be it money, clothes, food or toys, everything will go to area families who need help this winter." Thunderous applause followed her announcement, and she had to wait for the crowd to settle back down. "Thank you. Also, for anything you buy here in the park, fifty percent of the money will go to local charities such as the Salvation Army and the Red Cross." She held up her hands to stop the applause this time. "Finally, I would like to wish you and your loved ones a very happy season, and a prosperous and healthy new year." 

She stepped off the podium, and a local church choir filed onto the stage, their voices harmonizing to bring in the Christmas season. 

MacLeod turned to Richie with a question in his eyes. "Did you bring anything?" 

Richie held up a shopping bag, where a wrapped present peeked out from a rolled sweatshirt. "A little bit of everything," he answered softly. "I just wish it were more." 

Duncan rested his hand on Richie's shoulder. "You're doing _something_. That's enough." His thoughts went to Methos, sitting alone in his loft, and part of him wished he had been able to convince the Ancient Immortal to come. But, it was his decision. Shaking off the unsettling feeling, he walked with Richie over to one of the helpers and deposited their gifts. 

~~~~~ 

Methos sighed wearily, but pulled himself together as he parked the minivan in front of his next stop. Grabbing one of the bags from the back, he carefully locked the van before crunching through the snow to the door. He knocked and waited, waiting to see the look of wariness turn to a look of wonder. It had happened with nearly everyone who had opened the door to him this evening. Happily, this woman was no exception. 

"Hello. I'd like to talk to you for a brief moment, if I may," he whispered, trying not to draw the attention of the children. 

The woman nodded, stepping outside and closing the door. "What can I do for you ...?" 

"Just call me Nick," Methos said, much to the caretaker's amusement. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm in the chilly air. "All right, Nick, what can I do for you?" 

Methos took a deep breath. "First, I want to assure you that I'm not a crazed lunatic. I do this every year, in whatever city I happen to be in. I am here this year, so you get the benefits of my eccentricity." Methos watched as the woman's lips curled up into a smile, then she shook her head in amazement. 

"Whatever you have in that bag, I'm sure it will be appreciated, whether it comes from a crazed lunatic or not. As long as those are presents," she warned subtly, her right eye narrowing as she regarded him. 

"They are," Methos assured her. "Mostly-blue wrapped ones are for boys, mostly-red wrapped ones are for girls. I can hand them out myself, doing the whole Father Christmas bit, or I can just leave them with you, if you don't trust me. I won't be offended." 

The woman took in his outfit, the bag slung over his shoulder, and the van behind him with a cocked eyebrow. Her gaze slid to his face, which she studied for a long moment. "Who am I to deny these children Santa on Christmas? Come right on in," she offered, turning back to the door. 

"Before I go in, can I ask you something? What makes you trust me?" Methos asked her. 

One corner of her lower lip disappeared into her mouth as she thought. "Your eyes. You have very honest eyes," she finally answered, giving him a smile. 

"Well, that's nice to know," he murmured, blushing. "Shall we?" He pointed to her hand, which was still on the doorknob. 

"By all means. But you first," she chuckled, already hearing frantic whispering from inside. 

Squeals of delight drown out a mighty 'ho ho ho' as the door closed against the cold winter's night. 

~~~~~ 

Duncan and Richie strolled leisurely through the park, taking in the festive atmosphere. Nation flags hung from poles all around the bandstand, with a Christmas tree at one end and a huge Menorah at the other. Lights twinkled at their feet, lighting the pathways carved through the snow. Booths were set up along the sidewalks, selling food and trinkets, and offering information and good cheer. They stopped at more than a few, asking questions and buying some gifts for friends along the way. They opted to skip a formal dinner, instead sampling some kutya and Jewish latkes, washing it down with hot chocolate. 

"Want to take in the light show?" MacLeod asked, glancing to his watch. "They should be getting ready to throw the switch." 

"In a second Mac," Richie pulled MacLeod to the side of the crowd. "Right now, I want some more food and something warm to drink!" Laughing, they made their way over to a vendor, and bought some hot wassail, roasted nuts and two popcorn balls. 

"Are you sure we have enough sugar here?" Duncan laughed as Richie tried to bite into the popcorn ball. 

"Naah," he mumbled around a roasted nut. "But we can always get more." 

"You're insatiable," MacLeod groaned. 

"Yep." Richie smacked his lips dramatically and grinned. "Now, what's this about lights?" 

"They're about to light up the rest of the park. I've heard rumors that half a million lights were used. Maybe I should have brought sunglasses," Duncan quipped. "Come on, let's get a better view." 

"Better view? Aren't they all around us?" Richie protested, but allowed himself to be dragged through the crowd. 

~~~~~~ 

It was nearly ten o'clock, and Methos was down to his last bag. Blinking to keep himself awake, he fixed his eyes on the road ahead, looking for the correct street number. "Aha," he muttered to himself as he pulled up to the curb. The last stop. As his eyes swept the run down building, he suddenly wished this had been his first stop. Too late for regrets now, he stumbled out of the car, dragging the bag with him. 

His first knock went unanswered, so he removed his glove and rapped on the glass harder. That got a response, though not quite the one he had been hoping for. 

The door was ripped open as a bedraggled man asked curtly, "What do you want?" 

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to drop these off for the children. If you could just see that they get them ..." Methos' voice trailed off as the man's eyes filled with tears. 

The man, looking to be in his mid-fifties, finally found his voice, shaky as it was. "Dear God. I didn't think you would ... but you're ... you've come?" 

"I, um -- well," Methos stammered, finding himself at a loss. "I'm here," he finished lamely. 

The man's hand shot out, grasping Methos by the shoulder. "Come in, come in. It's cold out there." The man's accent caught Methos' attention; middle European, possibly 

"Thank you," Methos whispered, vastly relieved. He slipped his hand back into his glove, flexing his numbing fingers. "Would you mind if I sat down?" he asked. 

"Of course not." The man ushered him into the living room, setting him in one of the chairs. "Stay right there; I'll get the children." He chuckled as his initial astonishment faded. "They will be so pleased to see you!" 

Methos tried to hide his smile, but it was impossible. The man's laugh was contagious. 

Soon, children began trickling down the stairs, watching him with wide eyes. His gaze traveled over them all, seeing a lot of different countries represented by the dozen or so children congregating on the stairs. He would have to call on his language skills to impress them all. Smiling, he asked, "Don't you know who I am? Are you afraid of me?" 

Two of the children giggled and raced the rest of the way down the stairs, flying into his lap, almost toppling the chair and Methos. "Whoa, whoa, one at a time." He pulled the young girl from his lap, asking her to wait a minute, then shifted the boy into a more comfortable position on his lap. "Now, young man. What is your name?" 

"Eduardo," came the loud reply. 

Methos chuckled, then asked, "And what do you want for Christmas, Eduardo?" 

The boy leaned closer to Methos and whispered something in his ear. Methos' smile wavered, but he steadied it before the children could see it. "Is that all you want?" he asked around the lump in his throat. 

The boy nodded. "My cousin and sister are already here," he turned and pointed. 

Methos followed the skinny arm's direction, and smiled warmly at the other two children. "Well, you're lucky to have them here with you," he murmured. 

The light dimmed a bit in Methos' eyes as each child whispered to him what they wanted for Christmas. He had forgotten this was an orphanage for refugees. No wonder he had left it for last. This was the toughest to handle. Their requests were few, but also nearly impossible to fulfill. To see their father or mother again. To play with their brothers or sisters. To go home to their native countries. Not quite knowing what to say to all of them, he merely looked at the caretaker, who shrugged sadly. 

Methos cleared his throat, then called the children to sit by his feet. "Children, I know that your greatest wish is to go home and see your loved ones again. But instead of wishing for what you do not have, you must remember what you do have. Look around you. You have each other. You have wonderful people to care for you. You are alive and healthy. I could not wish for more for you." 

He looked at those solemn faces looking back up at him, and cleared his throat again. Taking a deep breath, he 'ho-ho-ed' a few times, then chuckled. "But this is not a night for being sad. It is a night for rejoicing! And for presents ..." he reached into the bag and began pulling out packages, watching carefully that the boys and girls got the correct presents. He reached down one last time, pulling the bag towards him and looking inside to make sure, but yes, it was empty. One lone girl looked up at him with her big eyes, resignation in them. She couldn't have been more than eight, and to see such an adult set to her mouth was too much for Methos to bear. Pulling her to his lap, he gave her a great hug, then pulled something out of his coat. 

"Rosalina, do you see this?" 

She nodded, keeping her eyes on his hand. 

"This is a very special card, with a very special address. This is my private mailbox. If you ever need anything, no matter what it is, you write to me -- or have our friend over there," he nodded to the caretaker, "help you. All you have to do is ask, and I will make sure you get it." He hugged her closer. "Is that a good trade for a small present tonight?" 

The adult set of her mouth turned into a child's smile as she grinned up at him. "Yes," she squealed, clutching it tightly. 

"Now, be careful and don't lose that. I'm putting you in charge of keeping it safe. That is a very important job." He fixed her with a solemn gaze. "I give this to you, but it is also for all the other children here. You must not be selfish. Can you do that for me?" 

She nodded enthusiastically, bounding off of his lap in a frenzy of energy. "I got Santa's special address!" she announced to everyone, who crowded around to see it, but she crushed it against her chest. "This is for me. Santa said I'm the only one to see it. But you can write to him, and I'll make sure he gets it." She turned and gave Methos a blinding smile. "Isn't that right?" 

"That's right, sweetheart," Methos whispered. 

Rosalina ran over and gave him another hug. "Feliz Navidad," she whispered to him, giving him a kiss. 

"Feliz Navidad," he murmured back. He released her, and she rejoined the other children on the floor, watching as they all opened their presents. 

"May I speak to you for a minute?" 

Methos looked up to the caretaker and nodded. They made their way through the frenzied wrapping paper sacrifice and to the other room. 

"I would like to apologize for the way I acted when you arrived. You see, a friend of mine said he would be by tonight, in costume, but he called a few hours ago and said he could not make it. Seeing you -- well, it was a bit of a surprise. At first, I thought you were my friend." He paused, grinning like the children in the other room. "Then I realized you could not be him, but I do not mind in the slightest. It must have been fate that sent you to our door." He extended his hand, which Methos clasped and shook firmly. 

"Not quite fate," Methos began to explain, then thought better of it. It would take too long anyway, and he had to get back to the dojo before MacLeod. "I thank you for letting me stay." 

The man shook his head almost violently. "It is I who should be thanking you! You have brought joy to these children tonight. That is a rare gift indeed. I hope you take some of it with you." 

"I do," Methos murmured, feeling his Quickening warm throughout his body. 

~~~~ 

Duncan shook his head at Richie's departing back. Leave it to the kid to use a celebration like this to pick up women. Though as his head turned to follow a festively-dressed elf, MacLeod thought maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. He felt a thump against his back, stumbled, and turned quickly. 

"Excuse me," the woman said at the same time Duncan apologized. They stared at each other, then burst into laughter. 

"I am sorry," Duncan repeated, holding out his hand. "Duncan MacLeod." 

"Regina Williams," the tall woman supplied, shaking his hand firmly. "We met over at the Kwanzaa booth." 

"Ah yes." MacLeod remembered her, and the musical quality of her voice, and smiled warmly. He bowed slightly as he greeted her formally, "Habari Gani," and kissed her gloved hand. 

"And Nzuri Kwanzaa to you," she answered solemnly, then she started to laugh. "Not every day that a lady gets kissed like that. You're some piece of work, Mr. MacLeod." 

"Call me Duncan," the Highlander insisted. 

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Then call me Regina. Tell me, are you here alone?" 

"No, actually, I have a friend running around. I should really go after him." Duncan didn't sound too thrilled at that suggestion, and Regina had a hard time keeping a straight face. 

"Can't he take care of himself?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. 

"Yes," MacLeod sniffed indignantly. "But he did run off with an elf," he admitted, offering her a half smile. "Care to keep me company?" 

She raised a dark eyebrow at him. "How long are you staying?" 

"Until the choir at midnight, at least." Duncan offered her his bent elbow. 

She looped her arm through his. "I think I can put up with you until then." 

They stayed for the entire program, enjoying traditional carols, an assortment of chants, kalanda, and songs from around the world, occasionally joining in. As the last of the Hallelujah chorus finished, Regina turned to Duncan and made her apologies. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to be getting home. It's late, and my family is probably waiting for me." She squeezed his hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Duncan MacLeod. I had fun tonight." 

"As did I," Duncan assured her with a warm smile. "Kwaheri," he said, returning the pressure to her hands. 

"Kwaheri," she replied with a hint of surprise and admiration. "I do hope we meet again." 

She disappeared into the crowd, just as Richie and his elf came into Duncan's view. 

"Hey Mac," Richie called to get his attention, even though Duncan was already looking around to find the source of the Buzz. 

Spotting Richie, Duncan waved. "Rich! Getting ready to go?" he asked, wrapping his arms tightly against his chest. 

Richie already had his arms around his elf, a smallish woman who looked the part with her sparkling eyes and quick smile. "Yeah. It's too cold out here, but it really was great. Thanks for telling me about it, Mac." 

"Any time, Rich. And aren't you going to introduce me?" Duncan asked pointedly. 

Richie stopped MacLeod's hand from reaching his date's. "Ah, no, actually. I think you've had more than enough of the ladies tonight. This one's mine." 

The woman rolled her eyes at Duncan, reaching out to grasp the Scot's hand. "Belle. Actually, Belinda. Nice to meet you," she introduced herself sweetly, while elbowing Richie in the gut with her free arm. "Richie here has told me a bit about you." 

"Has he?" Duncan fixed his ex-student with a look. "Well, only half of it's true, and even that's probably exaggerated." 

"Hey! Unfair," Richie protested, "Two against one?" 

"Hush," she murmured. "I'll make it up to you later." 

Richie's eyes lit up like the Christmas trees all around them. "Really?" He nuzzled her neck. 

Duncan rolled his eyes. "I think it's time I got going. You'll be okay getting home?" 

"Sure thing Mac," Richie assured him. "Merry Christmas." 

Belle waved as Richie started walking them toward the street. "Blessings," she called back to MacLeod. 

"Merry Christmas," Duncan yelled back, watching the young couple head for a side street and shaking his head in wonderment. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he started the trek to his car. 

~~~~~~ 

With a soft grunt, Methos extracted himself from the stall, watchful of the suit corners falling into the bowl by accident. Changing in bathrooms was not his idea of fun, but the suit was getting hot, and if MacLeod beat him back to the loft, he didn't want to explain why he was dressed as Father Christmas. 

Muttering to himself, he shoved the last of the red suit back into his duffel bag, giving the evil eye to the renegade boot that refused to fit. Sighing, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and grabbed the boot, shaking it firmly. 

"Next year, new suit. And new boots," he threatened the no-longer-shiny foot apparel, stepping back into the cold and quickly sliding into the van. Changing hadn't taken long; the van was still warm. "Ahh, modern conveniences," he whispered as the heater kicked in, and he started the trip back to the dojo. 

~~~~~~ 

Duncan shook out his coat and hung it on the wall, wearily stepping out of his shoes. Wiggling his toes to get the circulation going again, he debated whether to make some coffee or not. A jaw-snapping yawn made his decision for him, and he quickly stripped and dove under the covers. Within a few minutes, he was asleep. 

He woke up as he felt a Buzz, and groggily reached for his sword. It was not by the bed, and he scrambled to sit up, only succeeding in getting tangled in the sheets. 

The door opened, and Methos' voice called softly, "MacLeod, is that you?" 

Sighing in relief, Duncan called out, "Yes, it's me. What are you doing, coming in at this hour? And why were you out? I thought you didn't have anywhere to go?" he accused, grabbing his robe and pattering barefoot to the living area. 

Methos dumped his bag discreetly against the wall, shrugging out of his coat. "I didn't realize staying here meant putting up with the third degree. Can't a guy just go out once in awhile?" 

"On Christmas eve? Alone?" MacLeod prodded. His questions remained unanswered, as Methos stretched out on the couch, pulling the thick blanket around himself, giving every indication that he wanted to sleep. 

"You're not fooling me," Duncan declared. "I know you're not asleep yet." Methos didn't move. Sighing, MacLeod turned to return to his own warm bed. 

"MacLeod," Methos called from the couch. 

"Yes?" he replied impatiently. 

"Nollaig chridheil dhuit, Duncan," Methos whispered. 

Surprised, Duncan echoed the sentiment. "Nollaig chridheil dhuitsa, Methos." He started back to his bed when his foot caught on something. Trying not to make any more noise, he bent down and extracted his foot from the duffel bag strap. Peering closer, Duncan's eyes grew wide. Glancing over his shoulder, he carefully drew out more of the red fabric peeking out of the partially zipped bag. He shook his head in wonder, recognizing what he held in his hands, and just whose bag it was in. 

"You filthy liar," he murmured to himself, a grin nearly cracking his face. He shoved the suit back into the bag, tiptoeing back to his bed and sliding under the covers, staring in the general direction of the couch until he fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~ 

Christmas day: 

"Hey Methos, come on in," Joe Dawson greeted the oldest living Immortal, taking his coat. 

"Hi Joe," Methos gasped, stamping his feet to shake the snow off. "I can't believe we got another three inches this morning." 

"And more on the way," Joe announced, grinning at Methos' groan. "What, aren't you enjoying our hospitable weather?" 

"Hospitable?" Methos expressed his disbelief. "This is hospitable?" 

"Hey, you're getting a free meal. How much more hospitality do you want?" Joe shot back at him, waving to the couch. "Have a seat and quit your whining." 

"I'd rather have a drink," Methos followed Joe into the kitchen, where half a pumpkin pie sat on the counter. Methos eyed it hungrily, licking his lips. 

"I'm afraid I don't have any beer," Joe apologized. 

"What? No self-respecting bartender ..." Methos started to chastise his friend, until he opened the refrigerator and peered inside. "Joe," he groaned. 

"What, not your brand?" Joe leaned over to look into the fridge. "Hand me that bowl, would you?" 

"Here," Methos passed the dish to him, grabbed a beer, and closed the door. He tossed the cap behind the fridge before wandering around the apartment, nodding his approval. "You've got some great stuff here." He stopped at the bookcase and leaned to the side, reading title. "Oh, Goddess." He ran his fingers appreciatively down one book spine. "Is this what I think it is?" 

Joe glanced over his shoulder, seeing where Methos had contorted himself. "If I think you're looking where I think you are, then yes, that's what you think it is." 

A confused look passed over Methos' face as he straightened and turned to Joe. "What?" 

Joe laughed. "Yes, it's your Chronicle. I managed to smuggle it out of HQ." 

Methos picked up the volume, carefully turning the pages. "I thought I'd lost this," he whispered, caressing the cover almost reverently. "Thank you for saving it." 

"Hey, you used it to try to save me. No thanks are necessary. Now come and help me set the table," Joe ordered, "or you won't get to eat." 

Methos put the book back carefully, then went to help Joe. When they had eaten their fill, they moved to the couch, sipping beer and munching on cookies. 

Turning one oatmeal cookie over and over in his hand, Methos asked, "Did you get a package for me?" 

"Ah." Joe reached for a box on the coffee table and handed it to the Immortal. "Thanks for reminding me." 

"No problem." Methos opened the lid, shaking his head at the contents. "They still come," he said, his voice as weary as a 5,000 year old man's voice should be. 

Joe sighed. "Yes, they do." He watched as the Immortal flipped through the stack of letters quickly, shaking his head. 

"When I started this, I had no idea they would still write me, even years later." Methos leafed through them again, stopping when he recognized names or addresses. "Decades in some cases." 

"Well, you affected a lot of children. A lot of grown ups as well. You can't expect them to forget that." 

"No I don't, and I'm glad they still remember," Methos admitted. "But I wish that one day, they stop coming." 

Joe caught the look in his friend's eyes, and raised his beer bottle. "I'll drink to that." 

Methos raised his bottle also and they took a long swallow, then set about opening "Santa's" latest batch of letters. 

The End 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   


**Author's Note:**

> All translations were gotten from www.christmas.com:
> 
> Habari Gani - Swahili term used when greeting others.  
> Kwaheri - Swahili term used as an expression of parting with good wishes and an expectancy to meet again  
> Nzuri Kwanzaa - response to Habari Gani  
> Nollaig chridheil huibh - Merry Christmas in Scots-Gaelic  
> Feliz Navidad - Merry Christmas in Spanish
> 
>  
> 
> Kutya is a porridge made of wheatberries, honey and poppy seeds. The grain symbolizes hope and immortality (rather fitting), and the honey and poppy seeds ensure happiness, success, and untroubled rest. It is a traditional dish, served on Christmas eve, and enjoyed by Christian Russians belonging to the Eastern Orthodox Church.
> 
> Kalanda is observed in Greece by members of the Eastern Orthodox Church on Christmas Eve. Village children travel from house to house offering good wishes and singing kalanda, the equivalent of carols. Often the songs are accompanied by  
> small metal triangles and little clay drums. The children are frequently rewarded with sweets and dried fruits. 
> 
> Other links used:
> 
> http://www.christmas.com/true.spirit.html - with links on how you can do  
> your part to make this holiday season a bit brighter for those less  
> fortunate than yourself  
> "Around the world" info gotten from http://www.christmas.com.  
> For info on Chanukah: http://www.virtual.co.il/city_services/holidays/chanukah/  
> For info on Kwanzaa: http://www.melanet.com/melanet/kwanzaa/  
> For info on the Solstice: http://www.chin.gc.ca/christmas/solstice.htm
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
> *When I started this, I had no idea where the story would go. Oh, I knew I wanted Methos to be Santa, no doubt about that. But somewhere in the middle of writing it, I felt this could be something more. So I added references to other holidays, though I realize not much of them, but I tried to at least represent other facets of the time of year. But even that wasn't enough, then the idea of Methos giving certain places, or certain children, a private PO box, hit me. It seemed very out of character, yet, I believe that Methos would, in fact, do something like this. Despite all his harshness and cynicism, even he has to get affected every once in awhile. Finally I wanted everyone to remember just what this time of year is about. I had two great losses earlier this year, within a week of each other. I have one less house to go to this year, and two less people to buy presents for. I've already discovered one Christmas carol I can't sing anymore, due to the emotion behind it. I didn't want to have all of Christmas affect me that way, so I wrote this. It made me feel as if I were doing something, even if it was just a little something. Joyeux noel, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Solstice Blessings, Happy Kwanzaa, Feliz Navidad, and may your  
> new year be filled with hope, love, health and happiness.


End file.
